


I will make it Christmas, I will make you mine

by Ivecygnus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Caring John Watson, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Crying John, Crying Sherlock Holmes, Cute Sherlock Holmes, Dorks in Love, Drunk John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Love Confessions, Lovesickness, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock is a Brat, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:02:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivecygnus/pseuds/Ivecygnus
Summary: Sherlock and Christmas just don't fit in the same sentence.Five times Sherlock fails to make an ideal Christmas for him and John and one time he makes it more than perfect.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	I will make it Christmas, I will make you mine

**Author's Note:**

> Domestic and emotional boyfriends alert!
> 
> Have a good read!

1\. 

“What exactly are you doing?”

Every sane participant of the mankind would prefer a placid morning on Sunday, however sharing space with Sherlock made this fantasy rupture. The spoken day started off without any accidents—John crawled out of the sheets tucked in garnet see-through sweater and unwashed mug hanging from his hand. Immediately after waking up he noticed that the large culinary book with gilded edges missed from the section and a worrisome scent of his burning nerves swept him off his feet. _Literally._

Therefore he stood with judging look on his face at the kitchen door’s frame seizing his ever-so-unbothered husband wearing his clothes and swinging by the oven. He isn’t quite sure upon what stimulation did Sherlock decide on cooking at five in the morning—after all, neither him or anyone else could understand his razor-sharp intelligence, going through the impenetrable and grasping the invisible. Nonetheless, cooking this early was farfetched from what he’d usually do in any investigation.

“I’m practicing,” he throws a beseeching glance, “I’m making buttered treats for the Christmas celebration we planned together.”

Solemn silence follows and John is convinced this is a preamble to war—Sherlock lacks dignity when he’s experimenting! On the other hand, at least the doctor isn’t too pretentious in terms of the view. Sherlock’s boxers make his butt stick out in an otherworldly shape, a pellet rooted in John’s instincts. In full awareness of John's desires, Sherlock continues to sprinkle the dough with chocolate powder, as John sat down to let his mind imagine what he couldn’t have at the moment. Sherlock’s filling is made of lucid darkness, devious tricks and mistaken innocent which John knew so well that he couldn’t wait hollowing this filling out and eating it, raw and senseless.

_Fuck._

“Now John if you’d be this thoughtful, pass me the sugar before I besmirch our reputation in the neighbourhood by setting the street on fire,” with unyielding eyes, John does so and returns to his quiet observation. “I’m not sure if you are hungry darling or perhaps,” thin smile sprawled over his face, “ready to dislocate my hips again?”

“Oh god, yes!” the suddenness took Sherlock by surprise—John hurled around the kitchen island and tackled his rangy lover in a quick example how the birds and bees thing worked. Kisses’ splendour was as delicious as honey and walnut tarts; eyes shimmering in grossly triumphant manner like sliced roasted peaches. John bites the corner of his mouth with tender possessiveness and by the same token, Sherlock returns an ever-so-innocent peck right above his brow, quietly asking for more as John embraced him closer so it was only for his ears to hear such sweetness cascade down from amphora of their salacious vows. “Sherlock—”

“How are you doing in there?” with maudlin tone he asks and taps John’s back in rhythm with the breaths passed right over his shoulder, “You okay?”

“Wondering if your original idea was to play a chef or to show off how beautiful my baby is,” his heart speeds a little by the one who is hovering over him with unequivocal thought; subtle yet loud, “fearless and kind, talented and hefty at times, but always enough for a simple man who wouldn’t mind living in a constant battlefield of overcooked meals and gore.”

Sherlock is too transfixed into the abyssal affection streaming from his darling’s mouth—the troops of pedantic commands he went through, the explosions, the grief and therefore the mending of disintegrated fragments into a whole, everything flashed in front of Sherlock’s eyes and he knows no other way to help John and prove his unceasing love than organising the most memorable Christmas ever.

“You are touched!” he bites his laughter back.

“More or less.”

“Now, shall we have lunch before your thoughtful token burns in the oven? Let me handle it, don’t worry about anything else.”

Sherlock nods, bolstered by the cinematic experience, aroused by the closure and intimidated by the mere idea of Christmas entering their shared home with great panache, fanciness and Mycroft wearing a hat.

The treats were already burnt. 

2\. 

“Sweetheart, those gifts are outrageous.”

John cannot lie—it’s a law and precedent. Sometimes it left him in despair trying to recoup and gather and per usual it is Sherlock who intrudes his personal space and drags him to morbid crime scenes and dull theatre plays. Today he did not just interrupted Sherlock's gift picking though the clear-cut truth of how unsuitable they were, he made the other's face soften and relent.

“Why? You do not like my presents?” he spoke with uncertainty.

“Darling, I do not have the authority to order you around and I promise I won’t let anyone to do so, but I’m afraid Greg won’t be the happiest man if you give him a pan, or Molly if you hand her this bigfoot sweater,” he twists his neck in order to see it, but his stomach almost immediately welled up with guilt as Sherlock signed piteously. “It’s out of my hands to help you if you won’t trust me, dear.” 

“What about Mrs Hudson’s gift?”

John smiles gently and pulls the other in a much needed hug, rubbing the back of his rumpled coat. ”Remove the finger hats, otherwise the candle looks nice!”

“It’s for her husband.”

“He passed away years ago, Sherlock!”

“Yes, I know!”

John tilted his head—maybe Sherlock had a point. He would purchase the most abundant bouquet and arrange the flowers himself back when Sherlock faked his death. The most majestic and sunny garden belonged to the cooled grave; John is not anchored for a moment as the morbid memories set in. He reaches for Sherlock’s hand and agrees to buying this candle when he realizes the younger is no longer by his side. He panics as the market music carries on, uninterrupted at the background.

John scurried between the sections and began asking random bystanders if they have seen a man as unrivalled as his Sherlock— _Sherlock Holmes _the brilliant detective whom he has loved through thick and thin. People were cruelly ignorant to his remonstrance and their shrugged shoulders were his worst nightmare—then he heard a balm for his inflamed patience. A shout came out of nowhere and his shopping bag was dropped as he skidded to a halt, running before it was too late to fix whatever happened.__

__He will buy the finger hats—goodness, he will buy the silly glasses he wanted and the microscope he may never put in usage! Let him be safe and sound, that was all he must have had in mind as he ran quickly._ _

__“Let me through!” said the doctor, “please, let me go through, this is my husband!”_ _

__Then he states it was not that strenuous to go Christmas shopping with Sherlock, nonetheless he’s definitely not buying new decorative tree in his company. According to his imagination, Sherlock was lost in the big spooky market or kidnapped by the sales and in reality, Sherlock was kneeling on the ground next to a man with extreme shortness of breath and blueing lips, injection stabbed aggressively down the layers of muscle mass._ _

__John feels relief from the bottom of his tissues and mound, building up as he processed pulling Sherlock away before the security doesn’t do so on his behalf. Sherlock falls and looks at the petrified lady tugging on her husband’s collar with teary eyes, sobbing her heart out._ _

__“Psychopath!” blurred the lady in malignant voice as her husband slowly regained consciousness. John kneeled by Sherlock’s side and looked at the injection, lips quirking in wavering smile._ _

__“I would keep my mouth shut if I were in your shoes,” declared the doctor with unshed annoyance, “at least show decency when you stand in front of the man who saved your husband’s life for now.”_ _

__“It’s a compilation of symptoms suggesting tachycardia and this is anti-arrhythmic drug shot,” John recalls giving Sherlock those back when his addictions would make him relapse, in case he is not around to assist him. “if you leave it untreated he may face the coincidences which will ultimately be a stroke or a heart attack, is he anemic by the way? Consider a pacemaker, which should deliver electrical impulses and control his heart rate safely, do not rely on the idea we are immortal and protected from such things,” Sherlock says with urgency, the man’s organism already took the drug and dizziness fades as he reckons with nimble hand, saying a small ‘thanks.’_ _

__“Everything happens before you know it,” Sherlock smiles and goes with John who inspects the little bloated bump on Sherlock's eyebrow._ _

__"When will you stop taking the role of a hero?"_ _

__"Her punch was absolutely unexpected," Sherlock says while John traces a finger over the markーangry and tired._ _

__"You pompous git, if Santa fulfills my wishes you won't ever come Christmas shopping with me!"_ _

__"Be gentle with me, I just got punched!" Sherlock makes a dramatic remark and grins as soon as John frowns._ _

__"Moreover, if you mess with my medical kit once again and I'll use all my tools over this untouched skin of yours the next time you misbehave."_ _

__The unromantic stigma imprinted over his soul shakes like a leaf under an avalanche of emotions. His love for John inflated like a cloud and he's eager to claim his darling inch by inch and that present has always been in his top list._ _

__"I do not mind it my love," he kisses his cheek, "you are my favorite gift."_ _

__

__3._ _

__The traditional Christmas dinner will take place in the overmorrow; John’s last concern is to accuse murders in grotesque deeds at such bright celebrations, however that was not the case for his Sherlock. This man tends to rule all layers of society even if he had to make some soul-sobbing decisions. Instead of violence he used cleverness, always saying that the highest truth of the human were._ _

__Thus, his Sherlock neither sought fairness in the crowd, nor consolation in animosity. He looked for both amidst the sky, through old letters, within his own greatness and pain. Now looking at his lover moving boxes with excited cries, he marvels how such person could gather both ill kisses and all the horrendous loneliness within this short lifetime. One thing was for sure—he will never let him feel this way again, even if it takes decades to make him open up._ _

__While preparing a table for two, John heard unusual silence coming in cold stream through the half-opened door and just to make sure nothing is doing harm to his mischievous Sherlock, he went to check what was wrong. Taken aback, he sees quite the view—Sherlock sitting with both his legs crossed under the dislocated Christmas tree, toys and balls scattered over the rug, lamps around his body._ _

__“John,” he adorably mumbles and John barely holds a laughter, “I did not read the instructions, Jawn. Help me.”_ _

__“Is my Sherlock the cutest when he cannot do the Christmas tree by himself?”_ _

__“John, how do you find it funny! I don’t have enough time to get a new Christmas tree and I broke this one! It was inevitable. The instructions lied!”_ _

__John takes the paper of inscribed nonsense Sherlock did all over it and looked it through cautiously, then he went forward, just to get stopped by Sherlock’s tangled hand and sulky shake of the latter’s head. “Don’t come near love, I might have removed the unviable parts of the chain. I don’t want you to hurt your feet.”_ _

__“Removed them?” he signed. “Sherlock, I think you got faulty bulbs with this incandescent Christmas lights. I have no clue how one is capable of removing half of them by hand, but at least I can offer you to use the LED lights I have.”_ _

__“No, John. You said you’d rather be surrounded by colours on this occasion and therefore I searched for multi-coloured ones.”_ _

__“When did I say that, baby?”_ _

__“The 26th of October two years ago, I questioned whether you would like to change something for Christmas, however the following year I was still unofficially ‘dead’ so I wanted to make it up for you,” explained Sherlock so quickly that John had to mentally pause in order to remember—when did October this year pass by? “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Sherlock,” John coaxes and pulls the younger up so he can untangle the lights from the other’s body, “do you I need to repeat myself? Do not blame yourself for something which is already over, we can have lunch and decorate together. I’ll try fixing the tree tomorrow, at all events I shall make this work before Christmas.”_ _

__“Thank you,” he pecked John’s cheek and witnesses him blush—like hormone-crazed teenager on a few shots of tequila. It would be premature to assume John’s shyness is pure, as he smiled gently before returning the kiss with more determination, an inquiry for more, a speck over rainy day. Protectively Sherlock wraps himself around John’s shorter body with a satisfied smirk, he kissed every spot he still hasn’t._ _

__“In your kiss I am home.”_ _

__

__4._ _

__John awakens by odd bouncing over the bed—it’s Christmas evening, nevertheless he floats through the east-coasted warmth of the sea in his dream. At this surreal dream, he saw his own comely face and small blue eyes, like a child learning stone skimming at the river bank. He exhausted this closed-off space from all meaning as the sound of bells pealing broke through the abyss and like a hanged man he began waking up, seeing everything upside down._ _

___We wish you a merry Christmas! We wish you a merry Christmas! We wish you a merry Christmas!_ _ _

___Mary? It could not be! She must be away from him and Sherlock at all cost. Is it Christmas already?_ _ _

__Bit by bit, John regained consciousness and calculated the date while his pupils were still dilating. He had taken Christmas shopping upon himself, hadn’t he? The previous night he stayed up late to put Sherlock’s documents in order and make their den a tad bit more pleasurable to see. By midnight he found the nest of blankets and clothes Sherlock has made before falling sleep over his lover’s pillow very enticing. Something is hammering up and down his crotch? As he opened his eyes, there was Sherlock sitting over him with saddened pout._ _

__He was haggard with fretfulness, thoughts led away by his own speculations._ _

__“What are you doing up this early, baby?” he outstretched his arms to find the younger’s high forehead and litter every centimetre of it with drowsy kisses. “Is someone excited for Christmas?” John affirms, “Are you cold? Or maybe you just took a shower and your towel is still wet?” he touches the towel over Sherlock’s neck, knotted like a scarf._ _

__“I fixed the issue arisen yesterday.”_ _

__“Which one, darling?”_ _

__“The tree was tilted so I found my method of balancing it, it may seem extraordinary howbeit.”_ _

__“Baby, we talked about it, didn’t we? My to-do list is my own to arrange and you should never feel like a wrongdoer for not doing something I took the responsibility to get done,” by megrim he nuzzles into the odourless new cotton shirt his lover wore, kissing the snugly place of comfort where his clothes ended—he treasures those moments by the very last second. Sherlock is safe now and hopefully happy, because John knows happiness comes with love._ _

__“I like it when you do that,” John’s palms are almost always rougher than the thinness of his wrists. However Sherlock rarely complains about it when he pets his hair tenderly—if the champion of slaughtered bodies was known for his amorous tendencies, the great ‘Sherlock Holmes’ wouldn’t have been an authoritative figure in London’s newspapers. “You’ll be sued upon the crime of not spoiling me on Christmas!”_ _

__John hushes him back to listlessness with braiding hand—then doubt lances through their intimacy and Sherlock immediately senses his partner’s hand stiffed amidst the uncombed sections of his hair. In reality, John was questioning himself how good people with inscrutable competence like his brainy sweetheart lack emotionality? Sherlock himself is holding out to affection—does the world really stomp over geniuses like gunned down butterflies? He kisses the back of Sherlock’s neck where a cartilage poked through his tanned skin, possessive of the unsolicited love he is capable of giving so quietly, fuelling the elder with hope, bouncing back from the lake of sadness settled in his gut._ _

__“John,” said Sherlock, “I cannot imagine myself living without you, I’d be nowhere without you here.”_ _

__“Is that so?” John strokes his cheeks as the younger lied in between his knees._ _

__“I don’t stand a chance against anyone and anything if you are not close.”_ _

__The anomalous words were truly the damnedest thing John had heard this week and it’s been a long week—with Sherlock being his worst Monday and favourite weekend._ _

__“What have you done again?” John harrumphed._ _

__“Jawn,” Sherlock’s voice admits, “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“What is it Sherlock? You did something with the Christmas tree, didn’t you? I told you not to stick your nose in my business!”_ _

__After another second of silence John aggressively wrenched his coat and went to the sitting room seeing no tree whatsoever. Then he went outside as people had gathered around the alley and looking at the rooftop he saw the reason of that. There was a snowman taller than the tree itself built over the rooftop and right next to it the broken tree was balanced with stave. He had put both of the lights and all of this was on their rooftop._ _

__John was flabbergasted._ _

__“Sherl—”_ _

__“I love you, Jawn!” yelled he from the door frame._ _

__

__5._ _

__John would be caught in a fat lie if he said that was the best Christmas he has had thus far, but definitely it scored to be the most awkward event in his brief forty years of war, pain and wisdom. Some scarce adornment clued for the celebration as most of the decoration was stuck over the roof in undissolved snow. How dare Sherlock risk his health to run bare-footed over the rooftop?_ _

__Lestrade was having epic belly laughter with a crime Sherlock solved not long ago, now narrating his story to the women who circled his feet over the carpet like kinder gardeners listening to a story about big bad wolves and fair red riding hoods. Sherlock was playing along on his violin, making a dramatic vibrato using his forth finger when the culmination of the scene came—the shine of a chase and the thrill of being found, Sherlock gave in all through his music._ _

__Mycroft had a Christmas hat with pompon soaked in liquor. “Your brotherhood is obvious to me only when you are tipsy," said John._ _

__“Pious gibberish!”_ _

__“Just stating,” John sipped on beer, “I’m proud of him, Mycroft. He made a huge donation to a local school and except the traces of blood in rhe package they accepted everything. Sometimes I wonder if he really is that clueless,” John smiles, “my stupid, little Sherlock!”_ _

__Mycroft just passed out on John's shoulder. “Farewell, brother mine!”_ _

__“Ladies and gentleman!” Sherlock announced with brashness, “...and Mycroft. Today I’ve been more than honoured to see my most favourite people surrounding this sacred space of mine and toasting for another year of obstacles and blessings. Everything which matters in the darkest and uneven days we are given is to appreciate the finer and the lighter. I haven’t celebrated anything because I was never part of an union I could call a normally functioning family,” he looked back at John across the room, “and I may never be deserving of such. I was fortunately proven otherwise by the biggest person in my life. The biggest doctor by trade, author by talent and mine by fate."_ _

__John's heart slowly, but surely melted. Sherlock was having the most adorable speech and his brother was lying drunk over John's shoulder._ _

__“I have no dignity stored for ignoble and sane individuals, but only for the smallest godsend person I was lucky enough to receive and I hope resilient enough to keep,” staggered, Mrs Hudson pulled her handkerchief, “what is mine is yours too darling. Because everything I am today; I owe it to you.”_ _

__John managed to reach his lover by teetering clumsily between the stools and just when he was about to kiss him in front of everyone, Sherlock interrupted._ _

__“Lestrade! Remember the case where this speedy though lame-brained man escaped us by jumping off the bridge?”_ _

__“I absolutely do.”_ _

__“Well, my lovely John has always been a smaller calibre than me and rarely fit in my barrel.”_ _

__John’s face went red with mortification. “Sherlock!”_ _

__“His height resulted in smaller steps, thus the man we ran after got away. Now I have the pleasure to introduce you Anderson who is in the unrented apartment opposite to ours,” he navigates the guests through the darkness, “the code leading us to the stolen collection of paintings back then was forsaken in his pocket, but he is definitely coming for it and so I asked Anderson to keep the tracking chip working.”_ _

__“Since when does Anderson listen to you?” asked Molly._ _

__“Christmas bonus it is called,” Sherlock’s lips twitch in a smile causing John’s heart to race; valves closing and opening, blood pumping hard through the artless figure standing there like the king of justice and John knows he must get his tail to Sherlock fast, but the alcohol had fatigued all his will._ _

__“Sherlock, dear—”_ _

__“No, Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock marks that his words may be reckoned with, “As he enters the apartment searching to switch off the device...”_ _

__“What will happen, Sherlock?” John deadpanned._ _

__Sherlock counted under his breath; arousal of different kind gaining momentum as he no longer could rein the excitement in._ _

__“Maestro, fire!”_ _

__The baroque bow was lowered and Sherlock’s improvised music stopped at once—a quiet explosion was heard from the apartment. The detective was clever enough not to cause fire and brimstone fiasco during the night before Christmas, just a soundless burst of a sedative gas which the neighbours wouldn't feel._ _

__“Good,” said he as Mrs Hudson wept in John’s arms, “Graham, get the officers on shift to take him, he will be confused by the gas for no longer than twenty minutes.”_ _

__“For the last time Holmes, My name is Greg, not Graham!”_ _

__“I’ll call you Santa if I wish, I caught a notorious man without even interrupting the Christmas party!"_ _

__John glares at him in a manner as scary as a criminal losing control—Sherlock may be strangled with woodland wreath by his darling._ _

__

__\+ 1_ _

__The little snowman had no head by the morning so did the tree which whammed in the middle of Baker street—some children asking if miracles could rain! With the new snowfall, Sherlock had new cunning ideas of waking his precious soldier with. He knew John was not even close to mad for the spectacle his curious lover played, he even enjoys seeing the thrill following him even in the throes of safety._ _

__“Sherlock, what are you doing?” with needy hand, John reaches to touch him and Sherlock happily falls back into the other’s arms, his long legs wrapped around John’s._ _

__“Nothing including violence.”_ _

__“That’s new to hear my love,” Sherlock leaps over to John’s nightstand and the other impatiently pats the younger’s sacrum, “careful not to hurt yourself, baby. Can I help you find whatever you are searching for?”_ _

__“I meant to tell you,” Sherlock pauses and kisses John’s crown, drinking the somnolent groan coming from the doctor’s lips, “you are very beautiful in the morning.”_ _

__“Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart,” hugged back, Sherlock shows no signs of resistance, “you are unusually quiet this morning, did something happen?”_ _

__“I have a present.”_ _

__“For me?”_ _

__“No, for Graham,” Sherlock’s eyes felt sore from rolling and his face flushed with unabashed victory, “for you.”_ _

__Sherlock’s forbearance is running thin every time John loses his slippers so he passes him his own and trots hand-in-hand to the sitting room where John sees a huge Christmas tree, decorated not with toys, but with small photographs of them. With colourful pinches, Sherlock had created an exhibition of their most domestic, breath-taking and dangerous moments and hanged them like toys over the tree._ _

__John recognises the one taken from a newspaper—Sherlock still wore that fun deerstalker hat with pride! Then there was the picture Molly took after John’s first rehabilitation session, Sherlock made sure Mycroft contacted the best specialist in Britain. Then there is the one from the Baskerville case, the one in the train and one particular which John blushed over. He signed in attempt not to cry—as a matter of course, he never managed to keep himself from being all over the place when it came to Sherlock._ _

__“It’s okay,” Sherlock promises, his windswept hair warm under John’s clasping fingers, “I’m right here for you, even when I’m not comprehensive of vowing so.”_ _

__“You are an idiot.”_ _

__“Sincerely yours,” Sherlock laughs and rocks John in an embrace resembling slow waltz in the middle of their scruffy room._ _

__“You did that, didn’t you? It is unfair to have shaken me up with the most prodigious surprise and expect me not to cry.”_ _

__“I’m afraid that is the only way I know. I am so ignorant of the fundamental principles love holds and even more overwhelmed by the amount of care and knowledge you are able to give one as uncaring and unknowledgeable man like me,” John attempts to grapple Sherlock’s royal blue nightgown so he would stop talking such poppycock about himself. “When it comes to love there isn’t wrong and right—everything expands the matters of your heart. As unconditional as fondness can be, I sometimes think mine goes beyond this measure. I have never had anyone to put their cold feet on me, share their ugly sweater and use me as a pillow and on the next day save the whole country and appear on media with me. I really don’t want to believe people when they say you would move on.”_ _

__“I won’t, even if oceans part,” no words come out, “Jesus, I would never, Sherlock. I would never do this to you. I love you and I can't stress that enough, nothing can prevent me from being with you.”_ _

__“For that reason I want us to make an album and I want to spend the rest of this unsound lifetime with you. So when people point the heartless Sherlock Holmes he can confidently say he has loved in this lifetime once, because at the end of our movie, this should be everything we've lived with.”_ _

__Sherlock stops sensing his own voice crumble and John just hushes him in the prolonged hug. Sherlock preps kisses mid-air a few times before getting his lips over John's nose and cheeks and he’s more than calm even if they both felt it build in and erupt like a ray of sunshine amidst blizzard. Red-faced as if a snowball collided into him, Sherlock kisses John’s lips until they aren’t swollen, bitten and spoilt._ _

__Sherlock was found capable of using phenomenological observations in every situation, however he couldn’t look through a perspective where John was not by his side._ _

__“Can I kiss you more?”_ _

__“Not before you brush your teeth and try the freshly baked treats.”_ _

__“Oh! You baked for me?” John’s eyebrows furrowed._ _

__“Not really, the victim’s family was generous and gave them to me this morning.”_ _

__“Then, shall we have dinner together so I can return the gesture for this spectacular surprise?”_ _

__“I can arrange that,” Sherlock winks and sadly it was not successful, “you are my muse of staying home all day and spending time together.”_ _

__“I’ll be honest, you messed Christmas like never before, but I think you can fix that for me, no? Come here, love. Your muse is still sleepy, we’ll have a day for us later.”_ _

__“Oh, John!”_ _

__“Yes, Sherlock?”_ _

__Then he pulled mistletoe, lifting it high. “Only good kissers get good boys to cuddle with.”_ _

__John does not deem it wise to refuse his good boy._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Christmas is coming very soon and I hope everyone have something special to treat themselves with! I wish you a lovely forthcoming year and happy celebrations! Well, this story was a little gift for everyone reading and everyone who needs it! Excuse any mistakes, English is not my native language :D 
> 
> Feel free to message me on my Instagram: @writer_ivecygnus


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